


Template/Pale...?

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AUs, Everyone is an asshole?, Fluffy, I guess I think..., I'll add tags, I'm sorry I exist?, If you're sensitive, Ink is an asshole, M/M, Multiverse, Not really depressing but kinda depressing?, There Aren't Enough Fics About These Two, as it goes, everyone is slightly insane, haha canon what's that?, idk - Freeform, no smut..., oh yea cutting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-08-19 18:44:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20214490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is supposed to be a fanfic? I literally only found like two fics of this ship so... I shall grace this fandom with my presence and contribute some more non-canon bullshit yay!I have no idea where this plot is going so if anyone has any ideas I mean... Comment? ;-;My writing sucks by the way and I don't mind if you wanna insult me.





	1. Template's POV (This chapter suckssss)

**Author's Note:**

> So haha nobody wants to waste time reading this sooooooooo ha wasted your time. wtf am I even doing with my life lollmao.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loll this chapter suckssssssss

Finally. I jumped through the portal, my fine accomplice/weapon of choice, Penny, at the ready. I spotted his figure not too far away, facing the opposite direction. My greatest enemy.   
The AU was already beyond recognition, its residents crying out in agony, boiling in a way that was not unlike amalgamates and condensing, drop by drop, into a liquid substance. The swirling of what used to be a bright, hopeful Pacifist sky collecting at the tips of a white skeleton’s outstretched fingers. Chaotic colors flowing into a pool of deep, blackish red. The liquid creativity compacted itself into a glowing blob, floating just above his palm, Leaving behind a near blinding white emptiness. It was truly mesmerizing, how this simple, soulless creature was able to hold the very essence of an entire universe without any visible effort apart from the mundane gesture of reaching his left arm to the now nonexistent sky. The world was wiped without a trace in a matter of seconds.   
Turning to face Pale, my arch nemesis, the villain, destroyer of Alternate Universes, I struck my coolest heroic pose, pointing the tip of my swordlike pen in his direction. Just like I practiced in the mirror. I wondered absentmindedly just which emotion he would acquire from this universe.  
“As the Protector of the AUs, I order you to stop this meaningless destruction at once!” I shouted at his uncannily still form. He didn’t even spare a glance around as he retracted his arm, tipping his head back as he allowed the substance to flow down his non-existent throat. I felt a sinking dread in my stomach as he shifted, suddenly turning his skull so that his left eye-light was visibly boring into mine. Instead of the usual dull white, it was seething with a vibrant red: Rage.   
He stiffened as if his body was trying to adapt to the potent chemical that filled his usually empty chest with an unexplained cogent instinct. I could tell that this one was strong. The fear in my gut was compelling me to run, but the hero never backs down. Ink would never back down. Taking a deep breath, I prepared my pen.   
Now spinning around to fully face me, Pale’s right eye-light revealed itself. It was a shocking dark cyan: Grief. The unexpected combination caught me off guard, and I felt something else mingling with the fear in the back of my mind. I tried to ignore it.   
To be perfectly honest, the encounters I usually had with this particular skeleton were normally uneventful, and they rarely ended in a fight. Pale usually received positive emotions due to the pride and joy most creators found in their works, but on some occasions, he would come across a particularly bad one. This was one of those times.   
As much as I don’t like to admit this, I hated fighting Pale. He was incredulously strong when he wanted to be.   
But that’s not the real reason. It never has been.   
The truth? I had come to view this emotionless monster as a friend. He may be the villain, he may destroy universes, but he didn’t shun me like all the others had. Every AU I tried to help, everyone who had ever encountered Error, Destroyer of Worlds, would exert their resentment onto me because of how closely I resembled that madman. I cannot even count the number of times I was attacked out of the blue, mobs of monsters and humans alike catching me off guard and attempting to dust me. Too often had they almost succeeded. It gets tiring, having to be on guard for my life every time I enter an AU. So much so that I went to Pale’s Anti-Void and almost killed him out of pure frustration. I remember standing in the space littered with dusty clothing and random splashes of black ink, Pale lying on his side in that corner… And I just couldn’t. It was a pitiable sight. I knew he could not feel any emotion and I don’t know what I expected his “home” to look like; it definitely wasn’t this. All my annoyance faded away, and, somehow, I started venting to him, babbling on about everything. I couldn’t stop. He was a good listener.   
Shaking off the embarrassing memory, I noticed the heartbreaking smile on my opponents face. I felt a tugging urge to comfort him as I shifted to a defensive stance. It was never a good idea to approach a monster high on red paint. I know from experience.   
As if to confirm that knowledge, I was barely able to dodge his first attack. An army of deceivingly liquid looking black bones were shot in my direction with frightening accuracy. I rashly swung my weapon in hopes of deflecting the jagged projectiles, eventually remembering to sketch a temporary shield that, miraculously, sustained all the attacking bones. This reminded me of that one time I happened to run into Ink and found that his red paint vial was empty; Error wasn’t seen for a month after that incident… I shuddered involuntarily. I was on the receiving end this time.   
I looked closely for an opening in this havoc, trying not to be hurt by Pale’s actions. He’s only doing this out of blinding rage after all, lashing out at everything around him. Despite our attempts at hurting each other, I couldn’t help but feel sympathy when a single tear escaped his eye socket. I kept dodging the attacks, but I knew I would not be able to keep up forever. Kicking a lethal attack out of the way, I gripped Penny with both hands and swiped for the side of Pale’s skull. He dodged, but not before I could note the fading scarlet in his left eye-light. Thank fucking goodness. It was about time that the worst subsided. It was terrifying how much someone’s demeanor, even if they normally had none, could be affected by a magical blob of floating paint… Then again, considering that this was an entire Universe’s worth of creativity, not to mention the less than desirable blend of highly concentrated negativity and the white skeleton’s inexperience with feeling anything on an emotional level, perhaps it’s more shocking how infrequent these fights happen…  
Nevertheless, the ferocity with which Pale threw the attacks made his intent clear as day, and I couldn’t help but feel both a little betrayed and out of practice when a jagged bone left a gash on my arm. I dropped Penny. The other attacks forced me to dodge and I faceplanted into the smooth, hard surface of the blank space where there used to be a Universe. Fortunately for me, the brutal onslaught was almost immediately dissipated as the last of the red receded. My head hit the ground. Again. I faintly registered a few pathetic sobs as I tried, halfheartedly, to keep from falling the welcoming embrace of unconsciousness. My body won over my willpower. I watched myself bleed, staining the pretty white space through a hazy filter, not even realizing my stuttering eye-lights. The red marrow reminded me of that cursed paint. I guess it’s fitting, seeing how anger, violence and blood correlate. Pale didn’t know how to cope with the emotions; he might still need my help! But…Sleeping seemed like a much better option right now. I know Pale wouldn’t hurt me anymore.   
“Template! Wake up!”  
Sob.  
“Why aren’t y-you waking u-up?”  
Hic.  
“I-I’m s-s-sor-ry pl-ease just w-ake u-up…”  
Sob.  
“It’s a-all my f-fault…”  
Sob. Hic.   
“I-I-I d-didn’t m-ean t-to…”


	2. So like when you don't know wtf your doing but you do it anyway amirite? (Pale's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pale the bean does stuff. References to other stuff. No dirty stuff I swear but sad stuff?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm I'm bad at writing stuff but there aren't enough fanfic about these two around. So I'm going to make my favorite characters suffer. I swear there'll be so much fluff later!!! ;-; Uh don't read if you're sensitive...? I'm sorry I bring this upon the fandom. But like this fandom is the incarnation of angst...I'm not sorry.

I felt sob after sob wrack my body.

“P-please…” I whimpered. I didn’t like this at all. Why do I do this to myself? Every single time, I forget the silent vows I make in these times of suffering; I stop caring about whether I would like it, just wanting to feel something, anything. Every time, I revert back to this pathetic state, no matter how bad the last experience had been. Occasionally, there would be a long break, more positivity for a while. Then it all strikes again, leaving me to regret everything that led up to this. It’s all pointless, everything I do has no reasoning behind it whatsoever apart from selfish desire. And now I’ve pretty much dusted the only being in the multiverse who was even remotely close to being my “friend”. A wave of guilt crashed over me, stealing away another breath I couldn’t afford to have. So this is what drowning would feel like. I let my remaining sanity be swept away by the hurricane of raw emotion.

I curled up next to the fragile figure on the ground, burying my face into the stolen scarf around my neck. I wondered vaguely if the soft fabric would feel homesick if it could. Longing for a familiar place that only existed in memories, one that it was taken from, one that it couldn’t ever go back to. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never had a home. The sorrow permeated the air I breathe as I remembered all those times Template came, on the verge of tears, and spilled all his pent up resentment, tripping over his own words, rambling on for hours at a time. Usually about how he was attacked again, being mistaken for the Destroyer of AUs. How I had wished I understood all those irrational gestures he had made then. Now I did. It made me want to go back and hug him for it, weirdly, and punch myself for being an idiot. It was better while the rage was still in effect, at least then I could exert this somewhere, using the subtler emotion to fuel what I did instead of…Whatever this is.

I wanted to do something; I had to do something. I just didn’t know what. The fog that overcame my senses urged me on, and I followed it despite knowing that I wasn’t thinking clearly. I could count the number of times Template and I fought on one hand, and I could always tell he never wanted to really hurt me. With monster magic, attacks mean nothing if no intent is put behind it. Thus, I managed to escape all the “battles” fully unscathed.

The only scars I had on me were the ones I had managed to make myself. I’m not really sure why I do it, it just happens. I feel like it; I do it. Template was always there to stop me before I could go too far though. Funny he has to deal with the aftereffects of my consumption of mysterious substances and my acting like a complete idiot under their influences. Well, he’s unconscious this time.

There was no use lying here and wallowing in fake misery. I teleported both of us to my Anti-Void, only putting a hand on his skull. The bleeding wound on his upper left arm was horrendous; it looked scarily fragile, like it could fade to dust at the lightest touch. There was a thin crack running up the side of his skull as well, most likely from hitting his head on the floor. Because of me.

He was only trying to help me. He confided in me his worst fears, helped me with my stolen emotions despite what I had done to acquire them, and stopped me from doing some stupid things while on those stupid emotions, even though it would’ve made his job a whole lot easier to ignore it. I wished I could pay him back with something genuine to match, but that would be impossible. Digging out a bag of bandages and antiseptics I had found in his impossibly spacious jacket pocket, I meticulously wrapped his wounds and tried not to think about how I was the cause of the bloodied bundle before me. My healing magic was not up to par, which is unsurprising considering that my lack of a soul.

I finished up, laying Template into a more comfortable position on the pile of dusty clothes I had collected to form some sort of nest, being careful to place the bandages and antiseptics back into the magically expanded pocket. He wasn’t waking up anytime soon. The glowing substance I drank was still running strong, at least, a part of it.

Leaving him to rest and heal, my feet carried me away from the corpse-like figure laying limp on the ‘nest’ I had made.

I slipped my hand into the pocket on my shorts, Searching for what I always kept there. Template shifted slightly in his sleep. Pulling the small pocket knife out of my pocket, I slid the sleeve back on my left arm. The metal cold and unforgiving against my bone, I decided to trace one of the darker colored scars. They were just visible against the pearly white surface. Pressing the blade into my arm, I yanked it across the clean-cut line. It didn’t match perfectly. Running the knife along the new, bleeding cut, I dragged it through the remaining scar tissue, the length where the last attempt derailed and damaged the clean white bone beside it ruining the intricate order. 

Bloody marrow sprung up in beads, fallig from the liquid bubble in the now indented bone, resembling the striking red in my hands not too long ago. This feeling wasn’t good. It was addictive. I look down at the single red stain against my pale, monochrome bones.There wasn’t enough.

I’m a pretty sick person aren’t I? Well, just to make it official… I lean my head down, licking the blood and marrow. It tasted disgusting. The metallic scent lingered on my tongue. The cut kind of hurt, definitely not as much as Template had though.

I lean the small, cold instrument onto my arm, just below the previous opening. I press down, seeing the bright, scarlet bubbles already seeping through. There will be a new scar this time. I cut.

None of them are too deep. They won’t really affect me in any significant way. It stung numbly before settling in to a constant, pulsing ache. I love that I hate it. The intoxication of brewing misery and physical pain. It’s not healthy per se, but it won’t kill me. Probably.

I almost laugh out loud at the thought.

This just might be the end of me one day. And, right this instant, I find that I don’t mind; that it’s beyond me to care for this revelation. Who would care anyway? I barely knew anyone. It’s not me being melodramatic or whatnot, only stating a fact. People cannot care about someone who’s existence hasn’t been made known to them.

Template would be sad, but he would move on. He’ll forget about me if you give him enough time; although, he might resent losing the villain to his fantastic tale. I’ve heard enough from his ramblings to recognize his, quite frankly, unhealthy obsession with living up to his idol, ‘Ink, the Protector of All AUs’. I may not know much about this hero/villain thing, but I’m fairly certain that I am not the ideal arch nemesis. Though, to be perfectly honest, Template isn’t really the ideal hero either.

Despite this, he gave me something I have never received from anyone else in any way, shape, or form: Concern. Sure, some places I’ve gone to had residents that came to inquire about my well-being and choice in clothing, but the real subject of their worry was always Ink, whom I apparently bore a striking resemblance to. Plus, those people never stayed for long, they sort of just disappear into these colored puddles around me, which normally led to an encounter with none other than Template himself, who usually scolds and provides me with ‘emotional counseling’, aka him holding me in vastly contrasting ways as I either broke down or tried to run around in circles with an energy unmatched even by the pen-wielding skeleton himself. Or, on some days, it would lead to a fight.

On that pleasant note, I suck in a sharp breath. The third cut I’ve afflicted on myself this time. How many would there be before Template woke up? I don’t know. It was slightly deeper than the other two. I almost wonder why I do this. It’s pretty dumb to inflict senseless damage upon oneself, but then again, I just drank an unknown magical substance not too long ago. I think I’ve crossed that line. This is completely illogical behavior, and I should stop. Right now.

But isn’t emotion supposed to override logic?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao I should look over my work and properly revise it... Nah you're stuck with this. I'll try to update at least once a week?
> 
> I got lazy after reading a part of it and just left the rest.


	3. Pale ruined his sleeves oops. (Template POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sad sad sad ;-;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, as you can tell from above, I'm as good as Asgore when it comes to names. I'm sorry I bring this into the world, but, sometimes, torturing my favorite fictional characters just makes me happy.

Well that hurt. 

My consciousness was refusing to hold up. I needed to stay awake. Keeping myself from drifting off again, the full extent of pain settled in, hitting me like a tsunami. My ears were filled with a thudding noise, my head was pounding with my soul-beat, and I could feel several other injuries as well.

There was definitely a crack in my skull. How would I know? This wasn’t the first time I got my ass handed to me. This wasn’t the worst either. Luckily, he was there for that particular experience. Funny how this time, instead of saving me, Pale was the one to hand out that beating.

Pale had hurt me.

The realization made my soul clench. I had thought us friends, and this felt, surprisingly, like a betrayal despite my knowing the circumstances surrounding it. I don’t blame him, though. How could I? I have no right. It wasn’t his fault he was like this. And he stopped immediately after the red paint relinquished its influence.

Wait… Pale.

Oh shit.

The red paint wasn’t the only one.

My eyes snapped open almost of their own accord. I knew how he could got under the effects of almost every paint. Blue was not good.

He had certain…habits…while on the different types of paint, like how he would jump around, ecstatic, and start running in circles, vandalizing everything with his inky graffiti from absorbing Yellow paint, or how he would get, uh, cuddly and a bit possessive under the effects of Pink paint, etc. The paints offer glimpses of the person he would be with a soul, broken pieces of his personality, his being. As much as I hate admitting it, I was reluctant to take that away from him. I wanted to see him as he could be. But Blue paint…It revealed a part of him that I wish didn’t exist. For his sake and mine.

With such a potent dose of the substance, I knew he would have reverted back to his worst habits, even if I sincerely wanted to believe otherwise.

Careful not to make noise, I shifted in the surprisingly comfortable position I was set in. My exhausted limbs screeched in protest along with the cleanly wrapped battle wounds. He healed me, or tried to. This only nurtures the growing dread inside of me; he had regretted hurting me, felt bad for it. A spark of affection and gratitude let itself be know in the back of my mind. I needed to stop him. Quick. Preferably before he pulls another stunt like last time.

A blurry film coated my vision, preventing my eyelights from properly focusing. Despite this, I was able to make out the blindingly empty white that only one place could achieve.

Silently, I sat up, inviting another wave of throbbing and nausea. I groaned, stretching as best as I could with the binding bandages and stinging pain. I stood up, rustling the pile of various clothing items beneath me, my knees threatened to give out in response to the strenuous exercise. 

Glancing around, I found a lone figure in the stifling emptiness some distance away, facing the endless white. I approached, knowing that he heard me. He was sitting on his jacket. He almost never took it off unless he…

“Please go back to sleep, you need it.”

I wince at how collected he sounds; it was almost exactly like how he usually spoke, without the paints. Almost.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

I take a painstaking step.

“It’ll be easier that way y’know?”

The effort was draining. 

“If I were dead.”

Another step forward.

“You could’ve just left me to my own devices, and I’d still have died.”

Another step.

“You know it’s worthless for me to live like this.”

And another.

“So just save both of us the trouble.”

Another.

“And―“ I embraced him, wrapping my arms tightly around his sides, momentarily ignoring the burning sensation on my left arm and the glitches from my haphephobia. I kept holding him.

“You should’ve let me die.”

I bury my head into his scarf, staining it with tears, locking his arms in place as if I was afraid he would run. He’s tried it before, when a drop of fear was added to the mix. It took ages just to find him.

“Pale, please, don’t do this to yourself. I forgive you. Plus, I’ve had worse, remember?”

His form was eerily still, like a corpse. The only indication of his being alive was the fact that monsters dusted after death. I tried to force down the uncontrollable hiccups, with little success. We stayed there, neither of us moving an inch, the only sound being my ragged, shaking breaths as I cried for a soulless creature. I decided to assess the damage.

I loosened my hold, slowly moving around him to look him in the eye socket, his jacket getting tugged out from under his legs and tossed to the side. Shifting to cross my legs, I saw the red blooming through the sleeves he seemed to have hurriedly pulled down starkly contrasting his usual faded color scheme. His expression gave nothing away. The only indication that he’d had any paint at all was the Cyan dulling his normally piercing eyelights and the way said eyelights shifted away, refusing to meet mine. 

I felt a stray tear draw its track down my cheek as I gently rolled up his right sleeve. He didn’t even blink. Good thing I always kept a first aid kit on me. I brought it out now.

I ripped off my gloves, albeit a bit reluctantly. Then, as efficiently as I could, I sanitized the wounds with a small bottle of antiseptics, trying to minimize the pain. Rubbing a magic healing balm over it, my, unfortunately, practiced fingers properly bandaged the offending cuts, leaving it so that the wounds could breathe. I repeated the familiar process with the other arm, neither of us saying a word, the only sounds being the occasional clinking and rustling of supplies. This has almost become systematic.

I really wish he would stop.

I really, really wish he would.


	4. Pale's POV because why not?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter shorter than my drabbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should revise it and stuff but nah. Just insult me in the comments with the most creative language you can think of. Seriously, any advice is appreciated. With creative language. Be glad Fresh isn't around...YET...

Template carefully finished bandaging the cuts, wrapping my arm with the soft fabric. My eye-lights dart to the box of medical supplies. Everything in it seemed oddly fitted for this exact purpose. I kept looking around at anything else in the white space, landing on the glint of the pocket knife stuffed hastily into the pocket on my pants. He seemed too distracted to look for the used instrument as of now. I would have been relieved if it weren’t for the, ahem, slight impediment that drove me to this point in the first place. I wasn’t ready to meet his eyes yet, but I still felt them piercing into me. They burned with a tangible intensity only someone with a soul could offer.

He held my arm, sliding the stained sleeves back onto it.

“Look at me, Pale,” Template demanded. “Look me in the eye and promise me you won’t do it again.”

I could easily lie my way out of this, it’s not like I would care in a few minutes. But…something compelled me not to, and I felt my non-existent throat close in around the false promise, rendering my voice useless. I couldn’t lie to him. I didn’t want to break his trust, not when I could still feel.

The silence was deafening.

“Then I’m taking you with me.” Template announced, not a hint of jest in his words. If I had a soul, I was sure I would’ve been incredulous.“This,”-He gestured towards the messily strewn fabrics and random ink stains-“isn’t any place to live anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super short chapter. These updates are only consistent because I wrote them before I even got an account on AO3, so sorry if they slow. A lot...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should make the chapter length more consistent but nope. Sorry about such short, plotless chapters... I wasn't even going to update today. Until I suddenly found the motivation to finish a longer chapter after this one sooo YAY

For some reason unbeknownst to me, the blue paint almost always lasted longer than the others. Perhaps the Creators, the gods of our world, were always sad for some reason. Maybe that’s why they decided to create at all. To get away from their own lives. It’s a bit depressing, really, when you realize that you could have been only brought into existence because of the suffering of others.

Well, since I’m here now, I’ll do my best to bring good into the worlds. Isn’t it what the creators would’ve wanted? I liked to think so.  
Right now, the best way to achieve that, I’ve decided, would be to help the owner of the soulless stare boring into my eyes. With the blue paint gone, there was only a shell left behind, no trace of the, frankly, alarming monster that sat there in front of me mere seconds ago. Taking a deep breath, I, once again, put aside my haphephobia and took his hand, or more, picked up the limp form off of the ground. Not before putting my gloves back on, of course. To my astonishment, he held on.

I threw his jacket over my arm, Penny in my free hand, and opened a gateway to my universe. My home; about to become Pale’s as well. I knew he wouldn’t mind seeing as it was literally impossible for him to feel annoyance without paint. He might even find this to be a ‘diggidy fascinating turn of events,’ as another soulless acquaintance of mine likes to put it. And thus, I grabbed Pale by his sides and threw him, gently and lovingly of course, through the portal and onto my couch. I hopped in behind him, dropping the jacket in my arms. And told him, not so gently:

“You live here now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next one will be longer I swear.


	6. Pale's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pale talks a little bit to Ink? (Actually just Ink talking at Pale but oh well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY TAKE THIS SUPER LONG CHAPTER (It's not actually that long but like cut me some slack)

“You live here now.” Template had stated with finality, his cheeks puffing up a little in excitement and, perhaps a little nervous energy as he turned and ran through another portal, motioning for me to stay with his newly freed hand. I felt something resembling disappointment at the lack of contact, a teasing echo of true feeling that caused my brows to knit together ever so slightly. Template looked back as the portal shrunk into itself, frowning as he noticed my uncharacteristic display and blinking, only to find that my expression had once again become uncaring. He visibly dismissed it as a trick of the light.

This was an interesting turn of events. I looked around my new surroundings. A modern light gray and, well, dark gray colored the floor and walls, highlighted by white here and there, just adequate to complete the esthetic design but not enough to draw a viewer’sattention (I recall Template telling me about a certain phobia his idol, Ink, has). It’s the second time I’ve ever come here. Not much has changed apart from the blinking glitches that have appeared over certain surfaces, but even that was far from noticeable. The house was furnished in modest decorations with the odd trinket out here and there, everything meticulously organized and arranged by color, size, etc. A pastel brown wooden counter sat not too far from the couch with strangely shaped lights hanging above it, a bright strap of material sticking and curling as if trying to hide from a flame.

A contemporary house mimicking the chaotically neat personality of its owner, a home. This place felt…nice. I detected a faint twitch at the side of my mouth. This positive revelation triggered an instinct deep within me. My mouth wanted to smile, to be happy for this, grateful for Template’s care, or even apprehensive about the sudden change, but the hollow lacking in my chest wouldn’t let me. I’ve had more than enough time to get used to these strange sensations, unfortunately. The urge to display a natural, appropriate reaction was almost potent enough to be called an emotion. Almost.

Everything was an almost with me. Nothing was ever really enough. The hints of feeling, the lame imitations of what could have been. What would have been, if only I had a soul. I was almost a complete person. Almost, but not quite. I try smiling, twisting my mouth into some semblance of the expression. It feels wrong without real push behind it. I knew it wouldn’t look right either.

The gnawing emptiness left in me, once again, desired to gain what I so lacked. I do not live. I am. I wanted to live.

But Template would undoubtedly stop me from committing the heinous act before I could even walk out of this universe. And this time, there was no emotion to override the logic that others, including the person I become after drinking(?) liquid creativity, all seem to deny themselves. I wanted to feel that senseless drive for adventure, for risk. But was I ever going to get it? No. Not unless I decide to take the essence of other AUs. I’ll never truly feel on my own. From what I’ve seen so far, not many dreams come true in this multiverse. People tell stories about how they wished things would be because everyone knew that things wouldn’t turn out that way. The vast majority of the time anyway.

Either way, it’s not like I could resent my circumstance. According to logic, I knew that there were those with fates far worse than mine.My problem is nothing compared to half of those I’ve seen. The “creators” must be awfully sadistic creatures…

I would feel lucky, if it weren’t impossible for me right now. I knew I should be bitter, jealous at how I couldn’t ever hope to acquire what most were born (or made) with. As it is, though, the thoughts were all but insignificant acknowledgments in my wandering mind. Just things I knew. Facts. It was how things were and how thing were to remain.

“You know you could move around and explore,” I heard a cheeky voice drawl from behind the couch. It seemed strangely familiar. I remained motionless. It was taking longer than it should for me to place it, as if it were somehow…wrong. “Wow! Template wasn’t kidding! Though I probably should have guessed, you are technically me, after all!” It continued on cheerfully.

The skeleton walked, or more bounced, around the sofa, in a manner not unlike Template’s, to face my impassive gaze with a snarky grin on his skull, brows slightly knitted in concentration as he seemed to size me up, and a hint of mirth in his shifting eye-lights that would have likely taken much more effort for me to perceive if the eye-lights in question weren’t so…Expressive, to say the least.

So this was Ink, The Protector of All AUs; the talented, multiversal Artiste; the object of Template’s worshipping who, in all honesty, wasn’t all that far off from being a deity. He looked exactly like me, not taking his bold fashion choices, the obvious emotion put on display and the constantly fluid eye-lights into consideration. The black, inky stain on his cheek was a real giveaway, though.

There was a beige scarf flowing behind him, resembling a long cape, the layers he wore made me wonder how he could keep moving around, jumping universes all day without dying of heatstroke. A long sash ran across his torso, bearing a range of vials arranged by color. His choice of clothing reminded me of Template’s. No wonder the black skeleton never actually wore a jacket properly. Template’s obsession with fanboying the monster standing in front of me was slightly concerning, to put it lightly.

I finally pin the familiarity of his voice as my own, at least mine when I receive the very specific concoction for cockiness and lip, which only happened once, if I remember correctly. That, if I may say so myself, was a story worthy of being passed down for generations to come. Ink’s posture, his tone, his words, everything about him radiated cheekiness, sass, and personality. Everything I do not have.

I wondered why he was here.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” He chirped with that unnaturally optimistic voice of his. “ Well, you see, I had come to meet you! Template told me all about you. In fact, he was running around shopping for groceries or, uh, I don’t remember, it’s not important anyway, so I ran into him! Or was I looking for him…? I forgot again. Well, uh…” He paused. “Dammit what were we talking about again?” I listened to his attempts at forming a coherent story, studying the way he stood, gestured with his hands. Would I have been like this with a soul?

He continued rambling; I continued listening. Until I didn’t.

I don’t know what it was or why, but a flash of light in the corner of my perception caught my interest. I stood up without warning, causing the Guardian of the Multiverse to jump back and rush to lick at the contents of the green vial, then sliding it back with precise movements. His expression revealed shock and confusion.

As per usual, I ignored everything around me, my eye-lights only focusing on the strange object resting on a corner of the counter. I made my way towards the glinting, metallic shape catching the fake , yet convincing, sunlight that pierced through the large glass panes connecting the ceiling with the floor to the left of the couch. Tall, unshaded windows overlooked a scenic valley, filled to the brim with life, blanketed in greenery and severed by the strip of water racing along, reflecting the fading, late afternoon sun at a perfected angle, making the surface look as if it were carrying a magical, shimmering film. It was breathtaking. Almost enough to make me look outside.

A smooth metal sphere held my gaze, as if challenging me with its very existence. There was nothing special about it. It was the third smallest in a decorative row of orbs, neatly placed on a dark stone plate, about two thirds of the size of a ping pong ball. I took it and dropped it unceremoniously into the pocket of the jacket I had put back on after being thrown onto the couch. My arms stung a bit at the movement, but I didn’t bother to pay it any mind. The sphere weighed on my jacket, it was shockingly heavy for such a small item. I wonder where he got it, maybe Template just drew it with that giant pen of his, Penny. I would’ve chuckled at the ridiculous name, but I cannot muster the will to.

“Okay, so the first thing you decide to do after being welcomed into somebody’s house is to steal a random, possibly priceless decoration?” Ink rolled his eye-lights, sounding exasperated, but not trying exceptionally hard to hide the amusement lurking behind his words. He clicked his tongue. “That is just wrong.

“Welp, I hope Template knows what he signed up for. Rooming with a soulless monster wouldn’t be, ahem, easy, especially for someone like him.”-His mouth draws into a strange smile.-“So energetic, reminds me a bit of myself actually, maybe a little more innocent. A little more…Pure.” He chuckles mischievously, putting his hand to his chin. I thought I caught a mad glint in the corner of his eye before a warping noise sounded in the back of the room and the clean-cut, circular portal presented itself.

“Hi Template!” The elder guardian exclaimed at the aforementioned skeleton stepping out of the cut in space, leaving it to repair itself within seconds. “Thought I’d come meet your friend here. I’ll just leave you two be for now! So, uh, bye!”

The self proclaimed guardian gave a cheerful wave before melting into a black puddle on the carpeted floor, holding a broom-sized brush that I had somehow missed before. I stared blankly at the mess on the otherwise spotless carpet.

“Darn it.” I heard a familiar voice say. “He was supposed to come and get rid of the fudging puddle he made last time!”

I turned towards the owner of the house. Template’s eye-sockets widened in surprise. It seems he was shocked that I had deviated from my original ‘placement’ on the, admittedly, comfortable couch. I suppose I don’t move all that much.

“Pale!” The skeleton called with a hint more enthusiasm in his voice. “I just remembered: I haven’t even given you a proper tour of the house yet! C’mon! Oh and take off your shoes first, these floors are clean for a reason… not counting that.” He gestures to the puddle. 

I did as I was told, placing the stolen shoes onto a conveniently placed shoe rack, only to find that Template had already run into the closest hallway he saw, then he ran back out and grabbed my shoulders, lifting me up above his head with incredulous strength for someone his size. Sure, he might be taller than me, but that’s not really any accomplishment. Well, I guess that’s the result of carrying around a humongous magical pen while hopping universes all day and running around trying to avoid pitchforks thrown because of a rather infamous lookalike who, ahem, destroys said universes and kills practically anyone he meets.

He slung me over one shoulder and sprinted through the house, naming all the rooms we came across. The house included a cozy, warm-looking cinema room (for mostly anime he picked up from all the Alphyses he’s met), a nice guest room (for friends that may want to stay over), a second kitchen even though he has one behind the counter (for his cooking experiments that, he admits, don’t really go well), an extra bathroom with a sink and toilet (for obvious reasons), a supplies room upstairs (with miscellaneous items that look like they haven’t been touched in a while and shelves stocked with food, mainly chocolate themed… How does chocolate spaghetti even work?), a hobbies room that he prohibits anyone from entering unauthorized (AKA his raging/gaming/art room), his bedroom (where he barely sleeps) and many others he told me about and pointed out, all while keeping me slung over one shoulder. Template has made himself a mansion in the side of an artificial valley, pool and all. How he managed to navigate it so quickly while carrying a skeleton (almost) his size? I don’t know.

He recklessly sprinted through the halls and went to the door set on the wall perpendicular the full length window at the end of the hall, opposite his own room. 

“And this,” He set me down, just a bit awkwardly because of my literally being slung over his shoulder potato sack style. Our eyes met for a split-second and I saw his excited smile mould a little to hold the new sense of apprehension. “Is your room now.”

Template had thought of everything.

An entire wall was tilted outwards and made of glass, slightly shaded to soften the now fading sunlight. There was a king sized bed in the corner, complete with yellow covers. The bedside stand had a few practical drawers and a digital alarm clock with lamp above it set into the wall. A door opened to a luxurious bathroom. On a lowered, carpeted surface, beanbags with neatly folded blankets faced a large-screen TV, which had gaming consoles and DVDs in a tall cabinet next to it, a lamp stood on the other side, seeming to be remote controlled. It was bought together by a shaded glass retractable coffee table built into the side of the pillowed sinkhole/mini-movie room.

Almost everything was either tinted or highlighted in a bright, welcoming yellow. Almost.

An elevated area of floor near the window was painted completely white, with all the clothing from my former home scattered exactly as they had been there, down to the smallest scrap of fabric.

“Do you like it?” Template asked, his normally loud voice almost shrinking back into itself. Uncharacteristically, he fiddled with the jacket tied around his waist, frowning slightly. Seeing all the care and thought put into this, I judged, as most Sanses do, that it would only be fair if I gave some effort to reciprocate. I smiled and nodded, feeling a spark of something wanting to ignite in my chest, a shadow of excitement, joy. An unreadable expression crossed his features, tinting his skull a light yellow. He looked into my eyelights and gave a smile that made all his other frequent, ecstatic grins look plastic and fake in comparison. The light passing through from outside covered the room with its glow, but the warmth on my bones had nothing to do with it. That smile. It put the setting sun to shame with the joy shining through it. I felt my own skull lighting up for a split second. A genuine smile on my jaws.

For once, I wanted something other than basic, instinct driven survival. I wanted something more than a temporary substitute to cease the driving nisis where my soul should be. I wanted something else entirely. I wanted to see that smile again.

Maybe I could. Just maybe, if I try a little harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned to update maybe once a week. Sooo if it gets really slow, yeahhhhh....


	7. Template POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes I imagine Pale with unmatched socks. Now shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short but like I write slow and get lazy sooo yeahhhhh

Pale had smiled at me. I knew for a fact that he wasn’t on any paints, so it had to be his own, genuine feeling. I couldn’t even count all the times I tried to coax an emotion out of him. Any emotion. And just now, he had smiled at me. And nodded. My brain was in a jumble of semi coherent thoughts as I felt myself stupidly grinning back. I forgot why we were standing there in the first place and dammit I didn’t know what to do with myself. I couldn’t wipe the shit-eating grin off my face and I didn’t care enough to try. Pale had smiled, however slightly, and I was sure I had seen a complementary prismatic blush coating his cheekbones.

This means he can feel on his own. As fleeting as it may be, and as scarcely as it is to come across. Was this a bad time to notice the unmatched socks he wore? One was blue and the other was yellow. My brain refused to work and just wondered about those socks.

Without thinking, I ran out of the room, blurting out a quick parting, and ran as quickly as I could to my Hobbies Room. I locked the door behind me, even though I knew it wouldn’t really keep anyone out if they were set on seeing me. It just added a sense of security. Which I really needed. Checking the code to make sure that Pale didn’t decide to follow me by some miraculous twist of reality, I slid down onto the ground with my back against the door.

Dammit. I don’t know what to do.

He could feel. Without the creativity he drains.

He could feel.

In that moment, I decisively swore to myself that I was going to do everything in my power to make him smile again. Without the cheating paints. He won’t ever have to resort to leeching those crappy AUs anymore. Maybe, over time, Pale could learn to feel on his own, like a normal person. It was more than a little overzealous to hope, a bit out of character, but I was willing to try.

For Pale’s sake. I will try.


	8. Pale's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pale has no idea how to use a faucet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I randomly felt like updating.

Huh. Weird. People don’t usually run away when I smile at them. My appearance and lack of sentiment can be unsettling, but when I smile, on paints or no, people don’t just randomly sprint off. It’s surprising, maybe even a bit creepy, but it’s not that scary. At least, not enough to scare away Template. I know from experience.

I should look for him. I probably would if I were a normal person. But I’m not. I find myself wandering around my room instead.

My pile of debatably old clothes were arranged in the exact position they had been in the Antivoid. I distinctly recall seeing that white sock with hearts on it laying three decimeters from that fluffy blue jacket crumpled on its sleeves and oddly folded hood. It was like he had done this with magic. Which, now that I think about it, he probably had.

This was my room. I think I liked it.

I slumped down onto the soft fluffy comforters of my new bed. Why sleep on a pile of rugged cloth when you can have this? I held no emotional attachment towards my former belongings. It was still nice to have them here though. Kind of familiar. They brought a sense of belonging. It wasn’t exactly an emotion, but it was something.

The bathroom door caught my gaze-which returned to its normal dull grey after Template left, I could tell- with the light dancing off the reflective surface. Maybe I could take a shower. Or a bath. Or both. Soiling the sheets on my bed won’t do anything for anyone. I had been without hygienic equipment for about as long as I can remember, and the clothes I’m wearing were not exactly mint condition. Traversing and draining universes isn’t that messy a job, but dust and other residue from said universes can get on me. The clothes are technically leftovers from those universes too, and I don’t really know who wore them and where they come from. It’s not the most sanitary, I know. Better dirty than naked though.

The bathroom door slid open with a nice, satisfying sound. I walk inside, closing the door behind me. People didn’t usually like being caught indecent right? I realized, in that moment, that I had no idea how to use any of the stuff in a normal bathroom. Or what I assume to be a normal bathroom.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been to bathrooms before. I just didn’t know how to use them, having been deprived of these luxuries for heaven knows how long. As far as I’m concerned, there are only two ways to resolve this predicament. One: try to figure everything out on my own and risk setting the house on fire or something. Two: go get Template for help. The second one was out of the question as I still couldn’t figure out if Template’s sudden fleeing was good or bad and didn’t know where to find him, so, by process of elimination, I’ll just have to try my hand at this befuddling puzzle that was normal bathing equipment. I’m sure this will end well.

I reach for what I presume to be the faucet, tapping it. Seeing that there’s a basin under the metal, my ever sharp brain comes up with the theory that the opening at the end of the tube-likestructure is where the water is supposed to drop out of. Knowing this, it is only logical that there would be some sort of switch for it. After searching my mental collection of artfully gathered facts, I determine that the correct course of action would be to afflict motion upon one or both the two nobs strangely sticking out from the otherwise smooth surface. My fingers wraps around the one on the left, twisting outwards with cautious movements. Success. You only needed one. I unwisely stick my hand under the running water.

Sometimes, I wonder why people even make these things.

A self-preservative instinct urged me to rip my hand out of the water. It tingled from the burn. Okay, failure then. My eyes wander to the other knob. Maybe this will help. I twist it.

This time, only a finger was put under testing. The water had become lukewarm. That’s an improvement.

Problem: I didn’t know how to turn it off. Twisting them again didn’t work. They could wait. It was then that I noticed the stick set into the back of the tap. I pulled on it. Nothing seemed to happen.

I moved on to the shower. It should work like a sink right? I don’t see any reason why it wouldn’t. Then again, a lot of people don’t need a reason to do things. Well, I’ve come this far. Might as well risk it. It’s not like I could regret this later. The glass separating the shower is blurred, for obvious reasons. I slid open the door. A floral scent alerts my nose, originating from a creamy white bar resting in a small space set into the wall. It looks edible. People really eat everywhere don’t they? I wonder why Template put it in here though. I could’ve gotten food by myself.

Well I could try a little.

It tasted unpleasant. A weird sort of sour. Bubbles formed on my tongue. My senses were immediately overcome with the smell of lavender. It stifled my nose and lingered with a potent presence. I left the rest of the bar.

Knobs, similar in design to the sink’s, were set below a shower head. Having learned from the previous encounter, I twisted both at the same time.

A stream of warm water hit me in the face. I was soaked down to my underwear in a matter of seconds. Cloth clung to my bones.

“…Pale?” Well I guess I’l have to ask Template for help after all. “Uhm… Are you in there?”

I made my way to the sliding door. It rolled open at the slightest push. The glitchy skeleton just caught himself from epically falling, having been leaning against the door. He straightened himself, adjusting his scarf in the process.

I looked up at a startled Template, noting the giant pen resting against the wall beside the door. He took a small step back upon realizing our closeness, looking awkwardly flustered. Peeking inside behind me, his expression morphed into one of confusion.

“Pale… Why is the sink overflowing?” He shifted his eyelights to my clothes. “And how did…that happen?”

His brow bones creased in perplexity before his eye sockets widened in revelation.

“You’ve…Never actually used a tap before have you?” He near whispered, not expecting an answer. An audible facepalm happens. “Okay, here, let me help you.”

I shuffle away from the door in a silent invitation. The faucet was the first to go off. Apparently, you had to spin the knob the other way around. Who knew? The shower door was never closed, he stepped inside with plenty of room to spare, so I decided to follow and study the complexities of basic hygienic equipment. Template explained everything in detail, warning me that the left knob was for hot water while the right was for cold, getting his clothes a bit damp for standing so near the pouring stream of water. It was turned off before the shower flooded as well.

Only then did he notice the bar of strange tasting food.

“Did..did you really eat the soap?” So that's what it was...

And that is when he burst out laughing, doubling over and getting his socks even wetter. I couldn’t help smiling at the sight, the glitched sound bouncing off of the walls. His smile was contagious, despite the slight discomfort of being sluggishly soaked and cold now that the water has had enough time to cool down. The taller skeleton was wheezing by the time his stomach has undoubtedly become too cramped for anymore laughter. He was wheezing. It tingled a sense deep within me. I wanted to laugh too. I tried to force out a few chuckles, hoping to ease the emptiness making itself known in my chest. They came out slightly gagged.

The wheezing stopped. Template stood back up, staring into my non-existent soul as if looking for a confirmation of what he has heard.

“You laughed…” He stated, creasing his brow bones yet again. “Pale, can you do that again.” I supposed I could humor him.

I haven’t forgotten about that smile.

A sound imitating what I heard from others came out of my mouth, even going as far as duplicate the expression I get on yellow paints. A gasp.

Then, a squeal. I do not kid. A squeal. It looked like the only thing stopping him from crushing me in a bearhug was his haphephobia.

Template apparently decided that it was not a good enough reason. I was crushed in a bearhug. For three seconds. Abruptly as it came, I was dropped back down. Did you know that I could, in that moment, still taste the bar of what turned out to be soap?

Because I could. And I found that it wasn’t that unpleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't read over this all that much...It sucks I know >-<


	9. Template's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pale learns to play Minecraft and Template acts like a nooooob

Holy shit I think I just died of laughter. The best death. Pale ate a piece of soap. And he laughed.

Well, the sound was more of a forced chuckle really, but it’s an improvement. The best part? He had laughed again! With a smile on his face. When I asked him to. Holy. Shit.

Even though I could sense a lack of sincerity behind it, the fact that he did it at all was more than enough to make my day. My week. Maybe even my month. Because holy shit. Ho-ly fu-cking shit.

I wouldn’t mind him eating all my soap if it meant that I could hear him laugh again. I wouldn’t mind at all. It made him smell like lavender, which was nice, especially when I hug him. I’m pretty sure I heard him choke a bit though…

Three seconds. Then it wouldn’t be awkward to let go, not that he would feel the awkwardness. Three seconds and he was back on the ground. I never knew I could squeeze someone so tight without glitching sporadically! Guess we’re both improving today.

“Yes!” I pumped my fist in the air, celebrating with a little happy dance. I taught him how to properly use soap, explaining all the intricacies of bathing. Now that I think about it…When was the last time he had even showered at all? I made sure to really go over all the mundane yet mandatory details, even explaining the toilet, which skeletons don’t really use, emphasizing on how you do not throw a bath bomb into the bowl. That was only for the bath, as is self-explanatory in its name. Did I forget to mention that there was a decked out, color codedarray of bath bombs and different-smelling, and possibly tasting, soap in the space under the sink? Shall I point out that these bath bombs had little plastic charms in them? I made sure he understood the bathtub and how water temperatures were adjusted, how the drain had to be stopped before drawing a bath. It was going fairly smoothly, considering the circumstances, until I had to get to the part where I clarify that yes, you do indeed have to strip naked in the shower and wash those dirty clothes. It was a lot worse for me than it was for him. I don’t know if I should be thankful of his unresponsive nature or disappointed that he didn’t deviate from his usual blank expression the entire time I was demonstrating all the features ofthe bathroom. Lastly, I finished up by showing him the drawer with a box of medical supplies, not including anything sharp. I tried not to let my mind wander.

It was only then that I noticed how cold and wet my feet were. I looked at Pale, who had been following me through the entirety of the presentation. He was soaked probably freezing cold. I even had my front all water-stained from hugging him. I inwardly facepalm at myself in fear of knocking my glasses off. It’s happened before. Way too many times. This…is not my first pair of glasses.

“You know what?” I took off my sopping dinosaur socks. “I’ll just draw you some new clothes for after your bath. They’ll fit.” I assured him, even though I knew very well that I didn’t need to. They’ll be on your bed.” I made a mental note to bring some food, that was not soap, and healing balm for him as well. It was getting kind of late, seeing as the stars had come out already. I don’t think I’ve eaten that much all day, and I’m certain that Pale’s had less. Hey, maybe food will trigger some sort of reaction from him. He was already being abnormally emotional today, so who knows? Maybe he would smile again. Food does that to people. Well, one can dream.

It was silly, but I felt that I still didn’t trust him enough to properly draw a bath on his own. Seeing me demonstrate again wouldn’t hurt him. The water started flowing at just the right temperature, and I found myself rambling unimportant things about the wonders a nice hot bath could do after a long day. If nothing else, Pale was nice to talk to. He listens, never judging or interrupting. I told him to turn the tap off after the water level gets high enough. He was inexperienced, not stupid. I left the laundry basket in the bathroom, making a note to show him to the laundry room, which I had dismissed during our tour, tomorrow. Tonight, we were going to have the best sleepover in his room! And I told him as such. Mainly because I was still a little paranoid he would go off and do something stupid again.

At that, I left him to his own devices, closing the bathroom door on my way out and leaving a set of newly-drawn pajamas on his bed. I took off to my own room.

Home, sweet home. It was a near empty room with gradient walls and a glass sheet looking out over the exquisite valley of my creation. If I were to be perfectly honest though, I think I made it a little too green. The sky was filled with stars. A cheap replica of faraway galaxies full of light that has long since burned out. At least there. Was no light pollution in my universe, which is more than I can say for the vast majority of the other AUs with humans on the surface. I took a quick shower, trying my best not to let any water touch the crack in my skull and the pounding of my left arm. I patched up and ate some health foods to get back to full health, which I surprisingly hadn’t done earlier. Physical wounds would take a bit to heal though. They were always annoying. As long as it doesn’t affect my functionality, I can take a little pain. Magic healing balm does help though. That and some painkillers.

I threw on a huge fluffy onesie, pocketing the healing items I wanted to bring, including some snacks and candy, and rushed to Pale’s room hugging my favorite pillow to my chest, praying that he hasn’t somehow burned the rest of the house down with a toilet and some bath bombs. I reached my hand up and knocked on the polished wooden surface, shifting the pillow in my arms. In my head, I started picturing him in the most ridiculous pajamas my brain could come up with, uhh, in a non-weird way. I was disappointed that I had wasted such an amazing opportunity and left only boring sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt for the skeleton. On the third knock, the door silently swung open to reveal Pale in the grey sweats I mentioned earlier and a sweatshirt the color of the early morning sky, moments before dawn. Maybe it was just the giant pillow he hugged, but in this moment, he looked so small and delicate that it almost made me think that I’d imagined the vicious attacks he launched at me earlier. Except I had a gash on my skull and upper left arm, both of which brushed against the fabric of my onesie. They were already half-healed thanks to the magical items I had, despite this, the wounds would need time to fully complete the process. They shouldn’t scar much if they’re treated properly.

He shifted to the side and I let myself in. Contrary to what I promised before leaving, I had overestimated his height. By a lot. The sleeves covered his hands and the excess fabric hung down to his mid-femurs. I had meant for it to be a little big, but this was just comical. It was a wonder that he had managed to open the door at all what with the heavy pillow and masked hands. The pants were okay though, seeing that he didn’t trip over them. Well, I can always make him more clothes tomorrow. To be honest, the look suited him. An artist’s eye doesn’t lie, especially if it’s mine. Or Ink’s. The guardians of the multiverse can do no wrong!

We were going to have so much fun! Well I was. I only hoped that he would respond on some level to my absolute favorite game. If not, well, I guess we could try watching horror movies? Or just feelsy ones. I’ll improvise.

But for right now… I grab Pale by the redundant cloth of his sleeve, pulling him towards the bathroom after shutting the door. Neither of us express a desire to break the stifling silence. He wasn’t stupid enough to ask me what I was doing. He probably predicted this already, being devoid of embarrassment and other emotions that might have made this awkward, Pale remained cooperative as I pried the pillow out of his arms and set it on the sink after drying it with the cleaning cloth I left there. I took a moment to notice how the bathroom was still covered in puddles of water from the flooding Pale caused earlier. Luckily, it was relatively dry nest to the basin, meaning that neither of our socks have been ruined. I bent down the open a drawer, rummaging until I found the bandages and antiseptics I’ve been searching for. I took off my gloves. There was no stray noise as I rolled back Pale’s sleeves, my fingertips glitching a little at the contact. I’m pretty sure I was more shaken than he was, allowing a flinch to feather my features at the unsightly cuts. They didn’t heal as well as I thought they would, but they didn’t look infected, so that was a plus. I did my best to patch them up, glazing the area with abundant healing gauze and trying not to let my eyelights dwell too much. In spite of my best efforts, the much too lengthy procedure gave me more than enough time to register every single cut he had made this time, committing it to my memory against my will. The same process was applied to his other arm. There were a total of fourteen on both arms. It could’ve been worse. Much worse. But it’s the fact that he had done it at all sickened me beyond words. It’s not that I thought it was gross or messy. It’s just the knowledge that he had felt bad enough to choose scarring himself over waiting for me to wake up and talking it out, or just cry, or anything. What’s worse is that I was there. Right where he did it. Unable to stop him. That scared me.

These scars would stay with him, plausibly forever. He had dealt that damage with the intent to hurt, to leave a mark. Intent made all the difference in any injury afflicted by monsters, especially ones that rely so heavily on magic, like skeletons. Despite the red paint, Pale had never really meant to permanently mar me with his brutish attacks during our brief fight, so my bones would should be good as new in a few days time. His senses were likely too overwhelmed by the potent emotions to think that sadistically in the moment. And, if I were being honest, I myself am not the easiest opponent to be facing in a fight. I could do more than keep up if I had been focused on dealing blows.

I finished up as quickly as humanly (magical skeletonly?) possible, slipping on my gloves once again and handing the fluffy pillow back to Pale, who squeezed it as if to ease some of the emptiness I imagine being in his ribcage. Time to get to the fun part! Away from depressing dreary stuff that depresses people! Yay! Thank Toby. I dragged Pale into the mini cinema hole-in-the-ground I made in his room. I admit that I may have gone a little overboard. I’m not sorry.

We sat down on respective beanbags on either side of the coffee table as I bounced back into my normal rambling, trying to explain how Minecraft works. And how Roblox sucks compared to it. I took the snacks out and set them on the coffee table between us, forcing Pale to eat some healing items as the game loaded. To be honest, I liked playing with a mouse and a keyboard, but it was more comfortable sitting here. It was supposed to be a sleepover after all. Pale had to set his pillow aside as I taught him the basic buttons and mechanics. We left his avatar as Steve.

Pale, thankfully, had decided to humor me and play the game. We played on the normal setting, gathering wood and cobblestone. He surprisingly didn’t suck at Minecraft! Which was great, because nighttime came before we could build shelter and beds. We dug a hole in the ground and waited it out, consuming more snacks in the process. I was so busy teaching Pale during our first mining session that I starved to one health and lit myself on fire, losing all the iron I had in my inventory. That sucked. At least Pale had the diamonds. I was relieved until he jumped in the lava as well, copying me. I then proceeded to rage quit, putting a horror movie on instead.

I grabbed the fluffy pink blanket I had near my feet, snuggling closer into my pillow. I looked over to see if Pale was having any type of reaction to the movie, unable to completely squash the hope inside my soul. Nope. I sighed, standing up to cover him with a bright yellow blanket, tucking the edges in properly before returning to my own little nest and yawing. The movie wasn’t that scary anyway. I leaned back into the bean bag. I should get some for my room honestly. Bean bags are good for anything…

My eyes drifted closed, and I felt my consciousness slip away for the second time that day, the cheesy screaming from the not-so-scary cheesy movie lulling my mind to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeh sorry for the crappy chapter I was way to lazy to read over and edit this. I'm pretty sure there are a few plotholes as well...


	10. mInEcRAfT and waffles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They eat questionably obtained breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long since I updated or even wrote a new chapter. I don't even know why I started this fanfic and am too afraid to even reread anything because of how cringey this is, especially the first few chapters. Like, if you ever find me in real life somehow, never bring this up or I might actually attempt to drown myself with cheap blankets. At least nobody's reading this lolll

Minecraft was an interesting experience… Template had almost torn the room apart when I jumped into what I now know is lava. I guess he really wanted those ‘diamonds’ huh. He put on a movie of what I assumed was his favorite genre: horror. There was a lot of unconvincing blood in it, not really that attention-grabbing. I let my eyelights drift to where Template was sitting. He had fallen asleep with his glasses on. He seemed to never take them off, and they had never fallen off either, even during his worst moments. They were probably bound by magic tape. I wondered how he would look without them. I carefully drew a hand out of the blanket burrito I had been made into, reaching across the coffee table. His glitches shouldn’t act up when he slept.

He shifted in his sleep when my phalanges brushed against the side of his skull, but stayed sleeping as I peeled away the tape that secured his red-rimmed glasses. I did the same with the other side, lifting the item off of his nose ridge and placing it next to the snacks. Template looked peaceful as he slept, the cat-ears on the hood of his onesie did nothing to help his case. It was nice, seeing him like this. Unconscious, but not in pain. It was only now that I’ve seen him in his slumber do I realized how often the skeleton would frown and knit his brow bones together. I almost felt guilty that I was the main cause of his frustration. He hugged his pillow tighter in his sleep.

I looked outside. The night sky was beautiful. He drew it well. A pixel or two would appear if I stared too long in one spot, but other than that, it was indiscernible from a True Pacifist sky. I thought that I could almost see the stars moving if I concentrated hard enough. The unholy screams coming from the TV filled the otherwise silent night. I ignored it, disconnecting myself from what I could hear. It was nice to have someone here, next to me. Trusting me enough to fall asleep in the same room. I buried myself in the mountain of fluffy blanket. I wasn’t stupid. I saw how Template had shifted his left arm all night, even accidentally falling into the lava pit that led to the end of out gaming session. I saw how he never used his left arm while bringing me the blanket. I saw how he strategically placed himself on the beanbag to the left of the coffee table so that he could easily snack with his right arm. And I saw how he kept that cat-eared hood on, hiding the crack on his skull from view. He did it all for my benefit. He did it so that I wouldn’t have it on my conscience when I get more paint. He underestimates how observant I can be without emotions to hinder my senses and logical thinking.

It must have been hours. The sun was making its way over the horizon. I didn’t sleep. The TV had stopped blaring some time ago. I glance back towards Template. He was starting to stir as warm sunlight bathed the room in yellow. It was a nice color. It was a nice day. The sunlight could only serve to warm my bones. It wasn’t quite magical enough to reach my soul. You cannot touch what does not exist.

Unlike the stars, I could actually make out the movement of the sun without having to rely on my imagination.

The outside really was beautiful.

“Pale?” Greens laced with yellows. I could imagine how the light would shine through those leaves. “Did you stay up all night?”

The sun came up, shrugging off the clingy vegetation anchoring its glow to the horizon. It hurt my eyes to keep staring. Everything else darkened as I tried to adjust to the brightness. Eventually, I turn my head towards Template. He’s been speaking, but none of it registered in my head. I can try harder nest time.

“-and I was thinking that maybe we could have waffles and pancakes for breakfast. With tons of syrup and tons of butter. It’s the best. Can you believe that humans can get sick from eating too much? I don’t know if that’s entirely true, but I’d have died ten times over if it were like that for immortal magic-based skeleton monsters.” I listen to him ramble on about his love for the perfect crispy waffle, picking up and neatly folding the blankets as he went on to describe every waffle flavor imaginable and more. Apparently, lobster flavored waffles exist… First the faucets, now this? He paused his motions. I swear I could see the light bulb materializing above his head.

“I almost forgot!” He dropped the pillows and blankets next to the beanbags, pulling me up by my sleeves. “I’ll get you the waffles later. First, we have to get you new outfits!”

Well, whatever makes him happy I guess… This sweatshirt is a little too big on me. A lot too big on me. But I kind of liked it. Sort of. As much as I could manage without real emotions anyway. Template pulled me to the closet, giddy at the opportunity to have his own personal, living mannequin. He studied me, taking in all the measurements, then grabbed behind his back in search of the pen, forgetting that he was still in pajamas. Telling me to wait here, he rushed off to retrieve his most prized possession, Penny, coming back not even a whole minute later fully dressed, pen in hand. I was counting. He twirled the pen in midair, drawing the material out of nothingness. I was shoved into the closet with a bundle in my arms and told to change. I could still hear the sound of creation coming from outside. I look down at the fabric. It was nothing too crazy, just a sky-blue shirt and a pair of darker jeans. The shirt sported a yellow lined white cloud on the bottom left corner.

I put it on, knowing that it’ll be easier of both of us if I just humored this sudden bout of inspiration. I slid the door open reveal a waiting Template with a small mountain of compiled fabric in his arms, his head peeking out the side to study his handiwork. The shirt felt loose against my bones.

He smiles. “You look great in it Pale!” Pause. “Is that a narcissistic thing to say? ‘Cause, y’know, we’re literally only variations of one person…” Template smirks, mostly to himself. “Then again…Isn’t Geno dating Reaper? I think we’re fine.” He thinks for a moment before remembering to toss me the entire collection of clothing he’s somehow managed to make in the minute I took to change. I found myself closed into the closet again. This time, with a small mountain of compiled fabric.

The process went on. He’s made jeans, socks, shirts, jackets, skirts…Everything. I’m pretty sure it took at least an hour to try it all on. Although, I couldn’t help but notice how he’s avoided making any sort of short sleeves for the time being. I can’t blame him.

The further on we went, the more…risky his fashion choices became, eventually stopping when he realized I latest outfit was colorful enough to be worthy of Fresh. He sheepishly put the new clothes away, meticulously organizing them by color and Toby knows what else, leaving me with the first outfit.

Template seems to have had enough creation for this morning. He took me to an AU breakfast diner for those waffles he so loved. After making me swear (nod) five times over that I wouldn’t use this opportunity to drain it. Hey, I may be emotionless, but self-preservation instincts are still present, and I was hungry. A few nods was worth getting food. I’d rather not be both physically and emotionally devoid thank you. Being offered free food? Now why would I pass that up? We arrived at the through a tear in space, which quickly repaired itself, sealing us out into the big wide world(s?).

“Welcome…” Wait for it. “To my favorite place to get waffles!” That would’ve been pretty anticlimactic if not for the way he presented it. You would’ve thought he was revealing some sort of secret plan for world domination or something. You never know, maybe waffles was the answer after all… I wouldn’t put it past him considering the appalling discoveries I made in my new life yesterday. How is anyone supposed to know how a faucet works?

To my-sort of-surprise, Template used his teleportation to sneak into the kitchen, only to dash out a minute later holding two plates piled high with multicolored waffles. A chef seemed to be chasing and calling halfheartedly after him. He grabbed my sleeve and teleported us onto the shaded area of grass under a tree in a sunny meadow, dropping our asses onto the cushioned ground with a huff, somehow managing not to spill any waffles. He produced a packet of syrup and two drinks, both of which were chocolate. I may not have much common knowledge, but I know enough to recognize that Template probably wasn’t supposed to do that. The chef hadn’t seemed too happy. I guess it made sense, though. Template’s job isn’t exactly a stable source of income.

“Well,” He hands me a plate with a contented grin on his face. “Let’s dig in! I promise it doesn’t taste bad with chocolate.” He adds.

I don’t question this, taking a pink waffle into my hands and biting down on the perfect, yellow-brown-tinted crunchiness. I sip at my drink. It wasn’t bad. Quite the opposite actually. Template does the same, occasionally stopping to add more syrup onto both of our plates and commenting on the flavor and texture of the waffles. After finishing the fresh, store-made-home-stolen meal, I ask.

“Why run?” I knew full well that he would understand my question. Back at the waffle place, he could very well have just opened up a portal and taken whatever he had wanted without ever having to risk himself. He sighs before admitting.

“I like the thrill,” He states simply. I wait. “Okay, fine. The people from this universe...” His hands gestures nonsensically. “They hate me. They’ve hated me since the moment I first came here. They refused to sell me any waffles when I asked them _nicely_. And I’m not lying either; I do like the thrill and adrenaline. It’s just that… I thought that if they hated me as much as they did, I might as well give them an actual reason.” I wait some more. He pauses, finally making eye-contact. He resigns to telling the whole truth. “That and I like when I can make people just chase after me. The chefs there make funny faces and I can’t resist messing with them. Sometimes I would take the plates the moment they turn their backs and watch them panic through my portal TVs. There are so many things you can do too! I would take the food and watch them freak out, putting it back in the same spot a few minutes later. I guess I can sort of understand why the humans would always reset… It's the addicting feeling of being in control. There. Are you happy now?”

I nod once. Just to throw him off. I have my rebellious streak too, you know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I edited... Sort of... In maybe two of those paragraphs...


	11. WhaaaatIsMyLife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know this might just be partial shitpost, partially me forcing myself to write because I suck at English at this point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am too lazy for my own good.

There’s something I’ve had to come to terms with over the last few weeks… It was probably the most colossally relevant revelation I’ve ever had. Something about Pale that I never realized was there before now. Something that changed my life and made me question all the choices I’ve made up until now.

Pale was… Really good at Minecraft.

Not just the “Oh you’re pretty good” kind of good. It was more on the level of “Holy shit how do you even build that” kind of good. It was the “You built a house out of diamond blocks and somehow made it look good” kind of good. The impossible kind. The kind where you traded your soul to Satan to achieve this higher plane of gaming, except Pale didn’t have a soul to trade in the first place. He was that good.

Ido not, not for a second, believe that he has only been playing for a week. I remember that fateful night when I had first introduced the game to this poor, lost skeleton as if it were only last month, which is weird since it happened last week, as I previously mentioned. We both died in lava. With our diamonds. Although I had hoped that I would’ve been able to protect his innocent, amateur spirit from this unthinkable fate, it was a lesson every Minecrafter had to learn eventually. It was better this way.

Every day since them, we had been playing together for around an hour every evening in that world, regrouping and rebuilding what we had so unfortunately lost and more. The diamonds may be replaced, but the incident has left a blow in our honor that would take much, much longer to heal, if it ever even did.

On the bright side, Pale had been finding diamonds like they were somehow magically attracted to him. We got back out full sets of armor in no time. When Pale put his mind to anything, I soon learned, he was very near unstoppable. His character hasn’t died once since the lava incident. Impressive for a beginner ,I’ll admit, but what really presented his gaming ingenuity was the red stone contraptions he made with no instructions whatsoever. I would’ve honestly been shocked if her managed to get the simplest red stone door. What I didn’t expect was the astonishing level of accuracy and efficiency he displayed in the making of two mega-farms. How the fuck?

This makes me glad that we didn’t get into fights as often as I’d heard Ink and Error did. He could complete almost any task simply by using his ruthless, unbiased logic and precision. I am thankful. Sincerely thankful that I had not done anything to aggravate him in his angered state that day. Boy would that have ended well. I’m an egoistic maniac, not stupid. I knew what would have happened had he gone all out. I would be dust and he would… Still be living in an infinite, empty space with no knowledge of the basic mechanical operation of faucets and no Minecraft. That would’ve been a true tragedy. Can you imagine? Such wasted gaming talent.

I stuff my thoughts away, trying not to be distracted from my current objective. Making the rounds to AUs―relatively―on time is important! Hey, multiverse time is confusing, not to mention the constant resets that exists in so many of those half-assed universes. Couldn’t the creators have been more considerate with how they organize their creations? Well, nothing exciting’s happening in the AUs just yet. The stories I’ve seen a thousand times are in various stages of repeat with a few outliers slowly moving forward with their plots. There wasn’t anything really notable on a multiversal level today as far as I know of. I guess that leaves me with a bit of free time…

My mind starts sifting through things I could make Pale try, places that could coax an emotion out of the soulless monster. There was a new Muffet’s on a swap universe; though, I’m not sure how warm the welcome would be considering the spider donut I may or may not have taken this morning. Maybe they’ll have reset by now. I open a portal to check just to make sure.

Flying spider donuts.

Hey it’s free food right? I should do this more often. You don’t even have to wait for them to make the food! I’ll take it. Who needs to eat at a restaurant when you’ve got the entire multiverse at your disposal? Pale won’t mind eating a few battle donuts for dinner. I’d be pleasantly surprised if he did, actually. It’s what I’m striving for. It’s what we’re striving for, though it is pretty hard to see any enthusiasm coming from Pale. I promise he’s trying. I think.

Picking up the-only slightly dusty-donuts, I open a portal back to my place, fully expecting to find a quiet, intact house, only to be faced with a quiet, intact house. The exact same as I left it this morning. Nothing out of place. I sigh, perhaps a bit too dramatically, worn from my day. There was only one mob today, so it wasn’t too bad. A mob was still a mob though, and I couldn’t wait to get Pale and go do something more fun. Something in a universe with people that don’t throw me weird looks all the time. And attack me. With or without pitchforks and crude weapons. Like, people, at least go to the trouble of getting proper weaponry or, I don’t know, something that isn’t dated back to the fifteenth century. Even the so-called modern day AUs chase me around with shovels, rakes, and torches. I’m starting to think they’re just doing it for sport, like some kind of historical reenactment where I’ve unknowingly been cast as the villain that everyone of whatever biased village they’re from hates because of some reason I don’t know. At least some people accept me. Most of those people make me look like the picture of stability by comparison. I need new friends…

Pale is actually pretty normal compared to everyone else. Well, I’m assuming he’s more normal. I have a vague scale in my head, but that’s mostly based off of the stuff I hear on Minecraft servers and other social media. Who knows? It could just be that the social media platforms I use are where the weirdos congregate. You are naturally drawn to those similar to you after all.

I put down my dearest Penny, deciding to get a picnic blanket and maybe a few drinks and some chocolate. Usually, Pale would be playing Minecraft around this time. He can play for a bit longer. We needed some extra diamonds anyway.

After setting the stuff I planned to bring on the counter, I put them all in abag and stuffed my tablet in too. Maybe I’ll find some inspiration and get over this art block at the picnic. Some nature and scenery might be the reprieve I’ve been needing for a while now.

Once everything seems to be ready, I set out to find Pale, wondering what he might have built in our Minecraft world this time. I’ve even let him into my game room and use my PC. My vision of the greater good overpowers even my sheer pettiness. My dinosaur -sock-padded feet makes muffled footsteps on the ground. I let them lead me down the halls and towards the game room, bursting through the door.

Pale was… Nowhere to be seen. The PC monitor was on without any other lights, lighting the room in a dramatic fashion. The computer was on to our Minecraft world; there was even a half-complete structure sitting in the middle of the screen, but the player was nowhere to be seen. The hunger bar indicates that the endeavor has been abandoned for quite a bit. I quickly log him out and shut off the computer before it can turn to night in the game.

It wasn’t that uncommon to find Pale’s absence in the game room. He often felt the need to, well, sit in his room and do nothing? But in all those times, he has never once left the game running, knowing how much progress that could ruin.

I check his bedroom, the halls, the big kitchen, the storage room, heck, even my bedroom for any sign of life. Nothing.

Where was he? The spider donuts are going to go bad at this rate. I check the universe’s code. Nothing. I am the only living thing, apart from the wildlife in the valley I made, in this world.

I have a few suspicions, ones that I hope would not have to be confirmed, though it did exceed my expectations when Pale didn’t lay one hand on any AU within the first week. Despite my efforts, I couldn’t stop myself from holding on to that little bit of hope that stays there no matter how hard you try to wish it away because you know you would be disappointed. Hope cannot be diminished if it didn’t exist in the first place. But it did. I sigh.

Maybe it would go back to the new normal we’ve managed to reach in the time that he was here. I liked that normal. It was a good normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's probably a million choppy sentences, repetitive words, and typos or misspelled words in this chapter. I care, I promise, just not enough to spend time editing.


	12. Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Template POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter because I have a permanent writer's block that let's off at random times of months.

I hate gray. Not the color, of course, but what it represents. It’s the area between black and white that nobody can be sure of. No one knows just how much black is in it or if it’s worth the compromise white has to go through with. And nothing in this multiverse is black or white. I don’t usually have problems with this, but this time…

Pale looked so happy.

I don’t want to take this away from him.

I don’t care if he got it by committing mass genocide.

Okay, I do care. He shouldn’t be able to get away with something like that because morals blah blah. Creators made those things and blah blah blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. I care, just not enough to ruin this evening.

I’ll let this one slip. The multiverse can take it. That look on his face when I found him; it’s nice to see him smile. The people from that particular AU are too dead to care anyway. Nobody will notice if one of the infinite swap AUs vanish. It’s not like the resident Muffet’s bakery was that good.

Seeing Pale now, with that light yellow shading his eye-lights, it was worth an obscure, shitty AU any day. Watching the horizon consume the fading light, we feast on spider donuts and chocolate, Pale’s hyper talkativeness slowly wearing off. He rambles about the new red-stone contraptions he built and other things that randomly happen to pop into his head. He cozied into the warm yellow hoodie he was wearing, getting distracted by every insect that flew by. Once, he even ripped a butterfly apart out of curiosity to what its guts looked like. He had his mouth full of spider donut as he mumbled on about insignificant, normal nothings in his sweet, relaxing voice, pointing at the occasional firefly. It was almost as if he was purposely finding subtle ways to boost my ego by acting impressed with my creations. I can accept that.

I wish he were always this happy. But I knew there was no use wishing for the impossible. As it is, I settle myself for memorizing his smile. Giggling at every little thing, he takes a swig of coke to wash down the (only slightly stale) baked goods. I pat my nonexistent stomach in contentment. And then it hits me.

This was probably the only opportunity where he’ll answer any questions I present him with. He’s emotionally connected right now, which means there’s a chance he’ll understand better what I ask and be talkative enough for me to get some answers. At least, that’ what I hope. I prepare myself, sifting through the questions in my non-existent brain for an optimal wording. A nice, subtle question that won’t seem too direct while being clear enough for him to catch.

“Why did you cut yourself?” Great job Template. Mental slow-clapping. Great fucking job. That was so nice and subtle, just the way I wanted it to be!

I felt the tension weigh on my chest. It was as if a thin, sharp, murdery Chara knife had cut through a nicely decorated, perfectly iced birthday cake, only to reveal that the inside was moldy and bitter, and you’d always known the mold must have been there, but you never wanted to confirm it. You never wanted to see the deceiving birthday cake with moldy insides. You just wanted to preserve what you had.

“I…” Pale drifted off, lost in his thoughts. He didn’t notice my soul seize up in anticipation. I knew that my blunt words would probably have put off pretty much anyone else in the multiverse, but Pale could only feel what the AUs gave him right? This time, that emotion was happiness. Or something along those lines. He technically couldn’t have his mood ruined. “I don’t know.” He said simply. “It seems pretty stupid now. Like it always does. But back then I guess I just felt like doing it?”

It was unsettling to hear him talk about it so casually, brushing it off as if it weren’t bothering him in the least. Which I suppose it wasn’t. But it was bothering me!

“There has to be a reason!” I frown. “You don’t just do things.”

I felt the tangible hypocrisy in my words as soon as they left my mouth, contorting my face into some cross between did-I-really-just-say-that and facepalming-myself-mentally. Pale laughs upon seeing my expression. I take comfort in hearing it. The subject was dropped as I attempted to enjoy the night as much as possible, wanting to cherish the memories of having a real friend. One that could reciprocate the friendship. Whether it be through magical emotion drugs or not.

A while passed with us making small talk. Pale devoting his extra energy to exploring the vegetation surrounding our little clearing. I followed him, scrutinizing every rock and tree I created.

He eventually tired out and sat down on the blanket, mesmerized by all the stars that made their way out during his adventures. I plop down beside him a comfortable distance away. I talk to him about the stars and the stories behind their constellations. His responses get shorter, and I know he can feel the paint fading away. I keep talking, filling his silences until I hear his breaths slow to a constant rhythm. I turn towards him.

The bags under his eyes aren’t as prominent when there’s a smile on his face.

Maybe the paint will give him something good to dream of. He deserves it.


	13. Thought process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pale POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I forgot to update earlier so like

Why, he had asked. Why did I cut myself? I don’t know. Why did I?

Why did I drain that universe? I had felt like it. And, when you don’t have a soul, you have to latch onto feelings. Any feelings.

I got a feeling, so I followed it. I held onto it. I wanted it to last as long as possible, even if it were only causing me harm.

It’s like how I tried my hardest to keep the smile on my face after the yellow paint faded away, hoping it would stay with me for just a bit more time. It could’ve been born out of purely wistful imagination, but I thought I had felt it linger a little longer than it would have. I guess cutting, too, was just a feeling I followed. You could call me impulsive, I suppose. I do whatever I feel like doing. There’s no reason for me not to.

When Template found me in that now-blank space of an AU, draining the colors, he didn’t even try to stop me. He just stood there and turned his head to the side. I’m pretty sure he’s been expecting this for a while now, taking into account the looks he gives me when he doesn’t think I can see him and how he occasionally checks on me in the middle of the night. We agreed to leave our bedroom doors open to let the other know that he can come in. I may have found this revelation slightly disturbing if I had the capacity and even a sense of normalcy. I don’t.

I don’t plan when I actually get up off my butt to find a universe to drain. It just happens. This most recent incident happened upon me in the middle of building an intricate red-stone contraption in my and Template’s survival world. Yes, it was the one where I jumped into lava with our first diamonds. I had been sitting at his desk and projecting the design from my head onto the screen when I felt the urgent emptiness. The gnawing in my chest was a constant presence, but I have learnt to ignore it for the most part. These times are the ones where I can’t. It’s like a switch gets flicked inside my nonexistent brain, connecting the hunger to my conscious mind and I have to do something to fill it.

Seeing the stars through the slits of my eyes, the last lingering shadows of that joy I felt slips into my memory. I had enjoyed the crisp night air, the scent of earth and grass, Template’s voice droning on about the constellations, the lights in the sky, the softness of the fabric against my bones and so much more. I can still sense these things, but the appreciation for them are now lost. Only simple facts remain, the smile etched onto my face serving as a reminder for what I’d be feeling if only I had a soul. Template stops talking.

I pretend to sleep, knowing that Template would probably need his. He’s had a long day checking on all the AUs today. It isn’t long before his breaths begin to even out.

A smile so fake. Yet I wish to keep it. Maybe it will trick my mind into believing. What do I believe? I believe. I believe in the light of the stars. I believe in the white of the Anti-void. I believe in impermanence. I believe in Template. Maybe he’ll succeed, one day, in finding me a way to feel. Maybe. Probably not. But there’s a chance for everything right?

Maybe this will be that one crappy AU where everyone finally gets a happy ending.

The odds of that aren’t great. But maybe.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters might be a bit short and sucky but I don't really have much motivation to edit them and shit so


	14. Whoa maybe possible plot whaaat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FRESH, BITCHES. I just wanted to include him...

What a lovely day this is. The birds are singing, flowers are blooming…

“YO WHADDUP MY HOMESCLICE BROSLICE.”

What a lovely day this was. What a waste of a lovely day.

“WHAS ALL UP GOIN ON WITH YOU?” Fresh. The Fresh. Excellent. This is exactly what I need right now. Pale was lying on his side in the corner. He turned his head towards the blinding parasite. You know something’s up when you see Pale to stop staring at a blank wall. My hand slipped and I accidentally dunked a bucket of water all over my red stone circuitry. I absolutely LOVE Fresh.

“Can you not?” I pause the game, spinning around in my chair and narrowing my eye-sockets. I gave him my best _Bruh_ face. I knew it was risky territory I was stepping into, but he had just made me dunk a bucket of water on my redstone. I don’t think I have my emotions perfectly in check at this moment. “Can youn o t.”

“OH HAVE I GOT SOME FRESH DIGGIDY RADICAL INFO FOR YA BROSKI.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “It’s about Ink.”

Alarmed at the sudden transition from his usual 90s dialect, my brain decides to shower me in possibilities. Was Ink hurt? He should be able to recover quickly if he was, so that mustn’t be it. Maybe he needs my help patrolling the AUs! If I’m seen with him, perhaps the AUs I’m trying to protect won’t try to kill me anymore. (Wow that sounds sad.) Or Fresh could be trying to manipulating me into doing who knows what. Or he could be just bored and decided that playing with me would be a good idea. Or I could just be paranoid. Well, I’ll never know until I ask right? It's no good to beat around the bush when it comes to Fresh.

“What about Ink?”

… *insert interlude of Fresh doing wonderful explanation shit*

“Holy fuck.” Why does this seem even remotely plausible. It really shouldn’t, coming from the nineties nightmare, but it is. This seemed like something that could happen. Well, I guess that just means there’d be more tea for the multiverse's inhabitants to slurp up. Everyone loves tea. Peace, pfshhhh that’s overrated who cares about peace.

Ahem. Allow me to summarize: Ink has this weird thing he’s being shady about. That sounds anticlimactic. Allow me to rephrase this: Ink get into huge-ass fight with Error, tons of drama happens, Fresh somehow finds out because he’s Fresh, but he doesn’t know everything event though he wants to, surprisingly, and he’s sensing some great disturbance in The Force or something. Magic in the multiverse, at least the magic connecting each AU, is freaking out and everyone thinks it’s got something to do with Ink and his shadiness before his disappearance. Oh yeah, that. Ink disappeared. Went poof. Fresh can’t find him. Death can’t find him. Dream can’t find him. And Blue apparently forgot all about him. As in, Blue has no recollection of there ever being a third monster in the Star Sanses’ “partnership”. Shit got messed up within a week. The Star Sanses gang wish thing are trying to keep it from becoming gossip because the AUs would FLIP. Only the multiversal travelers could feel the change at all. It didn’t seem to affect the efficiency of travel, so most weren’t too bothered by it. Fresh thinks it might be the Armageddon; bad news. 

Fresh suspects that Science Sans could have something to do with this. Not the one almost everyone knew and thought to consult for science shit. An alternative Science Sans, basically a ripoff from another timeline. Everyone calls him Sci 2. I’m not kidding. Probably one of the reasons he’s so salty all the time. That, and he had a glitchy timeline where his Papyrus is perpetually crippled. It was written into the code of that AU by its creator. That’s not something Resets can fix.

That… Was a long summary. Let’s try again. To sum it up succinctly: The multiverse was a mess; now it’s a bigger mess with multiversal tea that Fresh felt the need to interrupt my Minecraft session for. This was probably pretty big shit.

Okay yeah, that's better.

Fresh poofs both me and Pale, who had been silently observing this spontaneous conversation the entire time, into the original Swap universe. The Star Sanses’ “headquarters”. He doesn’t bother with the common courtesy of knocking, teleporting us directly into the skelebros’ living room.

“Has anyone interrogated Sci 2 yet?” Fresh shakes his skull.

“NAH BROSKI. THEY’RE ALL UP FIGURIN STUFF OUT RIGHT NOW IN DA KITCHEN.” Fresh wriggles his nonexistent eyebrows. That was basically an invitation for me to join them, and, despite it coming from someone completely irrelevant to the Star Sanses’ strategic meetings, I walk in, leaving Pale and Fresh together in the living room. They'll be fine on their own.

I burst into the kitchen, drawing the eyelights of all four skeletons sitting around the table. The gang consisted of Blue and Dream, which would was a given, the Swap universe's Papyrus, dubbed Honey, and the original Science Sans. I thought I could see Honey’s eye flash orange at my sudden interruption. Hostile much?

I didn’t really think this far ahead. Fortunately, Pale chooses this exact moment to walk in.

“He wants to know about Ink,” Pale states, unfazed by the passive-aggressive aura emitting from Honey in waves. You couldn't blame the guy; his brother's memory had just been wiped clean of one of his closest friends. That was a cause for concern. Dream sighs, his original protest dying on his tongue as his common sense resigned himself to the revelation that he would not be able to get rid of me.

“What did Fresh tell you?” He gets straight to business, dropping all the niceties.Template recounts everything he’s learned thus far.

A beat of silence. Dream makes eye-contact with Honey, who seems to relent as well, slouching back into his seat. Sci takes the initiative to pat the empty chair beside him.

“We could use a little help…” Score! I get to find and save the Guardian of the Multiverse! Kind of. We don't really know what happened yet, and there was a more than likely chance that Ink had run away himself, but it'll still count. Maybe in a metaphorical way. "You know a lot about Ink right? We have you work cut out for us-"

“But,” Dream butts in. “You have to at least try and keep it from spreading. The last thing we want to worry about is a Multiversal freakout. That would…Not be good.”

“Obviously,” I scoff. That earned a snicker from Honey. 

“Okay, just making sure. We were just discussing whether we should find Error first or get Sci 2. I already tried to contact Error through Nightmare...” Nobody questions the fact that, despite Nightmare consistently trying to kill him, Dream was able to divulge enough information from Nightmare, willingly, to come to any sort of conclusions. Maybe everyone was just too used to this weird shit by now. So used to it that maybe everyone half-expected Ink to reappear out of nowhere like he always does. “He went under the radar a few days ago, and we have no leads on him so far. As much as I want to find out what kind of a vicious fight they’d had, I think Sci 2 would be the logical choice here.” Dream used a businesslike tone, but I could hear the apprehension in his voice even as he spat out the suggestion. “It’s the only place we can start. I can’t even access the Doodle Sphere anymore.”

Nobody seemed happy with the prospect of going to the skeleton. Not even Blue, and he doesn’t even remember Ink!

“Is,” I hesitate. “Uhm, is something wrong with Sci 2?” As far as I’ve heard, he was pretty right in the head. Salty, maybe, but he wasn’t crazy. I’d even visited him once or twice, and he seemed like a sort of nice guy. So why was everyone so anxious about meeting him?

“You haven’t heard…” Dream creases his brow.

“His brother, his Papyrus, got basically glitched out of existence.” Sci deadpans. “So, uh, he’s being a huge, albeit justified, prick etc.”

Oh. _Oh._

Of course. The creators were cruel. Everyone knew full well this was something they would do. Tragedy seemed to entertain whomever has full control over our lives, and so tragedy we got. That was the way of the multiverse. There's so much negativity. It gets to the point where not a lot of things can't affect you anymore. It’s like we’ve been desensitized by the literal universes of sorrow. Even Dream, and the guy lives off of positivity. It’s kind of alarming how well-adjusted we are to all the death and misfortune at this point. Kind of depressing, really, when you think too hard about it. That doesn’t mean we’re heartless. It definitely doesn’t guarantee immunity to awkward conversation when you try to interrogate people that, you know, just lost the only family they had to the unseen forces of their deities… If anything, being an outcode only served to make us prone to wholly new levels levels of painful awkwardness… Outcodes tend to get in weirder situations, what with our weirder backstories and powers and shit.

We still had to start somewhere with this. And, really, we don’t have a choice in the matter.

“So, uh… Who wants to pay the visit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if you get the tiny, obscure reference I made at the beginning.;')))))))) HELP ME GET MY BAD REFERENCES PLEASE


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